Remarkably, Wesley Carr is
approaching the end of his fifth year as Dean of Westminster. Despite
all the odds and numerous scandals he has clung to office. Much has been
written about each. Perhaps now is the moment to draw some of the threads
together, to examine the totality of his tenure, and ask how he has managed
to engineer his survival when any ordinary mortal who behaved as he has
would long ago have resigned or been eased from office.

At the root of Carr's remarkable
survival lies one factor - his ability to influence his colleagues and
subordinates and either bring them round to his point of view or at least
enforce their acquiescence. Given the intellectual calibre and track record
of at least some of those people, and the bankruptcy of some of the notions
he has sold them, it is a remarkable achievement indeed. Let us recall
two examples: hoary old chestnuts they may seem, but they still merit
further examination.

First, the Neary affair. Whatever
the other rights and wrongs of the business, one fact that can no longer
be disputed is that the Nearys' financial involvement with the Choir occurred
with the knowledge and acquiescence of the man responsible at the time,
the former Canon Treasurer Colin Semper. So how on earth did this not
come out at the Jauncey hearing? And why did the then-canons line up at
that hearing to condemn the Nearys, with whom they had formerly been friends
and colleagues?

Carr's technique was subtle
and brilliant. He already knew that Semper was ready to accept responsibility
for the whole debacle - the former canon had written to him at the outset.
But Semper was a sick man and Carr was ready to exploit every advantage.
It would be quite improper, argued his team, sniffing their onions, to
subject the ailing Semper to the rigours of a full hearing (in actuality
never more than Jauncey, the appellants, the respondents and a handful
of lawyers and scribes.) And so it was agreed: Semper would be seen by
Jauncey with just the minimum deployment of counsel and court officers,
in a less formal setting. The Nearys were advised that it would be inappropriate
to attend under such circumstances. Then, at the last minute, Carr played
his joker; he insisted on attending, although he certainly had no more
reason to do so than the Nearys. The result was as he surely predicted;
Semper, with the Nearys absent and Carr monitoring his every nuance in
a much more intimate environment than a tribunal room, and frail as he
undoubtedly was, became tongue-tied and inarticulate. He allowed himself
to be tripped by the Abbey's clever counsel, apparently contradicting
himself. Colin Semper, the renowned and silver tongued former broadcaster
and raconteur was reduced to an unreliable witness, a sick man whose testimony
was confused and inconclusive.

And why did the canons turn
against Neary so vehemently? One after another, first in their uncannily
similar written statements and then before Jauncey, they declared that
they would not accept the organist back whatever the outcome of the appeal.
And, of course, that outcome was to become self-fulfilling, for an irreconcilable
breakdown of trust was itself grounds for dismissal.

How on earth had such a breakdown
occurred before the appeal had even been heard? Quite simple. Carr and
one other canon, the bad-tempered Michael Middleton, had conducted the
Nearys' disciplinary hearing in private. Carr formed his own conclusions
and then presented them in black and white terms to the three remaining
members of Chapter for their endorsement: the Nearys were guilty. He omitted
to mention Semper's letter or a single word of the Nearys' response. Take
this exchange from the appeal transcript, between the Nearys' senior counsel
and Canon Donald Gray, referring to Carr's briefing to Chapter following
the disciplinary hearing:

Elias: "Did anyone say 'What
exactly have the Nearys said about this matter?'"

Gray: "I cannot recall that
particular detail. I do not recall that question being asked, no."

Carr, it emerged, had presented
Chapter with a bowdlerised report of the proceedings of the hearing against
the Nearys but filed a complete version, which would of course be seen
by the Nearys, for the court bundle. The Nearys' counsel cross-examines
Canon David Hutt, now Sub-Dean:

Q. Were you aware that there
were two reports?

A. I am aware that there were
two reports, yes.

Q. You are aware now. Were
you aware that there were two reports at the time when you made your decision
to dismiss?

A. I was not.

Carr blamed his lawyer for
this extraordinary subterfuge. Some time after the Jauncey appeal that
same lawyer was rewarded with the post of Abbey Legal Secretary, and with
it all the trappings of Collegiate membership. The lawyer notwithstanding,
the conclusion cannot be avoided: Carr set out not to present even-handed
evidence to Chapter and allow them to draw their own conclusions but to
persuade them to adopt his point of view and then paint themselves into
a corner over the ensuing months.

So to the second example, the
Choir School, where the problems continue despite the sacking of the headmaster.
In just three years every single member of the teaching staff has resigned
or been dismissed, a record that would be dismal in a 'failing' state
school; for it to happen in a small prep school full of bright children,
class sizes of seven and highly supportive parents should ring major alarm
bells.

It is worth recalling that
Carr has an unhappy record in his relationship with musicians and in his
governance of schools. In his previous incarnation as Dean of Bristol
he dismissed the organist/choirmaster for alleged offences that were not
publicly revealed, drafting the man's letter of "resignation" for him
and then warning other cathedral deans not to employ him. To their credit,
another cathedral, having conducted an exhaustive enquiry and finding
no case to answer, did eventually employ him and he has enjoyed a distinguished
subsequent career. When Carr did the same to the headmaster of Bristol
Cathedral School the Headmasters' Conference, Carr having roundly snubbed
their emissary, was so incensed it withdrew its recognition of the school.
Predictably, Carr persuaded the school governors to endorse both these
sackings without proper enquiries; the members of that governing body
have been unsurprisingly reticent about their role in such obvious injustice.

The situation at Westminster
was different in one important respect. The headmaster was Carr's own
appointment, his favoured candidate after he rejected at interview a shortlist
chosen by others prior to his arrival in post. The man he chose was an
authoritarian in his own image; he unfortunately shared other characteristics
with Carr which, where children are involved, are not so easily dismissed
as foibles of personal style. When parental complaints began and multiplied
during 2000, Carr tried to dismiss them as trivial or even as attempts
to undermine him.

What was remarkable was the
reaction, or rather lack of reaction, from the school's governors. This
secretive body comprises Carr as chairman, the four Canons, and five lay
people. Among their number is no less a figure than the Headmaster Elect
of Eton College. It must have been evident to them at a very early stage
that all was not well, and that events had occurred that were, by any
modern standard, entirely unacceptable in a boarding school. They did
nothing. Moreover, they appeared to support the Dean, who instigated a
risible 'independent' investigation into one major complaint, conducted
by his own right hand man, the Receiver General. Even when Carr published
his conclusions without consulting the Governors (when challenged on this
he hastily corrected the omission after the event by disclosing selected
evidence to them) not one publicly disowned him, still yet resigned. The
school doctor was made of sterner stuff; when Carr rejected his concerns
at the number of pupils with stress-related symptoms and had the gall
to question his professional competence he (and his entire practice) resigned
without ceremony.

It was only the intervention
of the Social Services department, with their statutory powers, that finally
persuaded Carr that the game was up. Their report, even after Carr's efforts
to dilute its content, unambiguously revealed the headmaster as a serial
bully. The headmaster was dismissed. Even then, Carr attempted to dress
it up as a voluntary resignation 'for personal reasons' and sought personal
vindication by helping the man into a new post. According to a press report,
never denied by Carr, the former headmaster's new employer claimed Carr
had assured him that the man was not a bully, he had not been sacked,
and that the social service report had been wrong. Pity the former headmaster's
new pupils and staff.

So, in just two of numerous
examples, we have a picture of a man who prevails in the face of all logic
and good practice, even in institutions with notional consensus governance.
What clues can we find to explain his extraordinary ability to persuade
colleagues of apparent intellect and probity to accept courses of action
that under other circumstances they would certainly reject out of hand?

One thread in particular demands
closer attention; Carr's close links with the Tavistock Institute. This
apparently august organisation promotes the psychoanalytical study of
groups, a subject in which Carr professes to be an expert and has published
prolifically. What is less well known is that the Tavistock Institute
is also one of the world's leading repositories of expertise in psychological
warfare and the manipulation of opinion for strategic ends. They were
pioneers of the technique that became known as brainwashing. This much
is fact. Inevitably, in the shady world of the security services it is
difficult to probe much further without confusing fact and fantasy - and
certainly a wealth of wacky conspiracy theories link Tavistock with sinister
plots to create a New World Order that seeks to control all our minds.
We can be sure that the spooks relish such nonsense as it makes it easy
to dismiss any genuine insight into their work as absurd speculation.
What is less easy to dismiss is Carr's undoubted expertise in persuading
intelligent people to accept that which, in other circumstances, they
would regard as unconscionable. It is chilling that a man who openly specialises
in such manipulation also pursues a career as a minister of religion.

It is not only Carr's colleagues
who have been subject to his special manipulative skills. Those who have
crossed him vouch that he employs similar techniques in dealing with those
he views as opponents. There have been numerous reports from abbey employees,
volunteers, choir school parents and external professionals of Carr's
subtle and intimidatory techniques. He often chooses grandiose formal
surroundings such as (at Westminster Abbey) the venerable Jerusalem Chamber
or the ancient Chapter Office meeting room, wears full clerical finery
when it is patently neither necessary nor appropriate, and sits when possible
with his back to the window, with an expanse of table between him and
his 'opponents'. Even in less formal circumstances he has been noted choosing
a higher chair for himself than for his guests.

Carr is a master at controlling
the conversation. He will use a variety of techniques to sidestep uncomfortable
questions or topic areas he wishes to avoid - declaring a topic a diversion
from the agreed subject of the meeting, disrupting the meeting to summons
a colleague, or deploying an arsenal of conversation stoppers: "the matter
is closed", "are you doubting my word?", "we made that decision on advice
from others", "that decision is for me and me alone", "that is confidential",
"it is Chapter policy", and when all else fails "I am not prepared to
discuss that". Throughout the past four years, when he has faced many
challenges from journalists and others, he has never been prepared to
enter into an open-ended polemic about his activities; on the rare occasions
he has defended himself publicly he has done so in print or in lectures
without taking public questions. His major public lecture "Whence and
whither in another millennium" justifying his behaviour over the past
few years invited questions - but in writing to his press officer!

Another favoured Carr technique
is the ambush. He will choose a time and situation to deliver accusations
against a target when they are entirely unsuspecting and unprepared. There
will be no advance intimation of his intent, and it allows him to press
home his advantage whilst his victim is still in a state of shock. He
consolidates that advantage by having a ready-prepared solution: "if I
have your immediate resignation this matter need go no further", presenting
a mirage of reasonableness and even magnanimity. (A similar technique
is practised by crooked timeshare salesmen: "unless you sign now this
once-in-a-lifetime special offer will lapse, permanently") He appears
still to be at a loss as to why this technique failed with the Nearys,
declaring long after the event, apparently without irony, that "…it is
a fundamental principle in legal matters to negotiate and the Dean and
Chapter affirmed the Christian dimension by negotiating longer than is
usual (for three days) in order to allow Dr and Mrs Neary to retire gracefully."
As Carr said at the Jauncey hearing: "We expected Dr and Mrs Neary to
come back to us on the Monday, having thought about it, and we would then
be able to follow things through" That they regarded themselves as innocent
and did not want to retire prematurely in disgrace apparently did not
enter his calculations.

Carr will sometimes delegate
the delivery of such bombshells; if it all goes pear-shaped it makes it
much easier to distance himself. It is notable, for instance, that when
the time eventually came to sack the headmaster of the choir school Carr
left others to do the dirty work for him.

A high-risk, but to date effective,
strategy is to reduce disputes to binary terms. The victim makes a claim,
Carr rejoins to his colleagues with a very personal, polar contradiction,
ensuring that it is impossible to lend credence to the claimant without
implicitly accusing the Dean of lying. The notion of 'balance of probability'
as a test of the victim's case is thus neutered; any balance that disfavours
Carr is tantamount to disloyalty to him and to the Abbey. With the exception
of the Neary dispute, where he was left with no option, he has ensured
that all disputes have been 'resolved' internally. It is little wonder
that Carr has spoken out against the Cameron recommendations with their
central proposal for a detached and, one hopes, impartial supervisory
body.

But let us return, finally,
to Carr's portfolio of techniques in respect of his colleagues and subordinates.
One can only speculate whether it is by chance or design that he has appointed
a disproportionately high number of people with vulnerable aspects to
their characters. It is puzzling, for example, in view of the number of
homosexual staff members Carr inherited, that such an uncompromising puritan
should appoint (or attempt to appoint - some have turned him down) several
more, and particularly in the choir and school departments.

Secrecy is another weapon.
After the Neary debacle which, to be charitable to the Abbey, arose out
of some of the management not knowing what others were up to, Carr promised
a new era of openness. In fact the very opposite has happened. Information
on things that matter is strictly controlled; enquiries about Chapter
decisions, the reasons for premature departure of staff or even the names
of the Choir School Governors and the dates of their meetings are met
with refusals or obfuscation. What has increased umpteenfold is the flow
of propaganda, such as annual reports peppered with photographs of Carr
and 'motivational' bulletins for staff full of self-congratulatory twaddle
produced by the grand-sounding "Assistant Receiver General - Communications".
(This same man gives seminars to fellow PR practitioners on the brilliance
of his handling of the press coverage of the Neary affair; one certainly
cannot fault his chutzpah.)

Carr has always been very well
aware of the power of knowledge, and is careful to ensure that people
are told as much or as little as he deems appropriate. The effect of this
is that it makes it very difficult even for his colleagues and senior
staff to challenge his decisions; impossible for outsiders. An example
was his 'independent investigation' into allegations of bullying against
the choir school headmaster. The complainants were never allowed access
to first-hand evidence such as interview notes or even the names of witnesses;
Carr simply wrote saying that the matter had been investigated most thoroughly
and stating his (both specious and libellous) conclusions that the children
were at fault. The parents were left with no option but to withdraw their
sons, leaving Carr free to claim that he had been vindicated - a strategy
which would have succeeded had not the (genuinely independent) social
services team fortuitously been inspecting the school shortly after the
incidents, revealing the truth.

A useful control mechanism
over colleagues is the "painting into a corner" technique mentioned previously,
successfully deployed on a number of occasions. It is simple but effective.
By giving colleagues an incomplete or subtly distorted account of a set
of circumstances, Carr implants a set of suppositions in their minds.
He then manoeuvres them into taking a public stand based on those suppositions
- in the Neary case, for example, the other members of Chapter wrote to
the Times supporting Carr on the basis of what subsequently proved to
be a highly partial account of the disciplinary hearing. The success of
this technique relies on the colleagues not having the moral fibre to
change their publicly-expressed stance once they learn the full story,
afraid that to do so would be regarded as disloyalty to the Dean.

In all the above, one theme
persists; Carr's astonishing ability to persuade otherwise decent, intelligent,
perceptive colleagues that black is white and the world is flat. Ask them
to defend themselves? "That matter is closed", "it is Chapter policy…",
"you should address that question to our Legal Secretary". They will take
on their adversaries at awkward times and places - in the Abbey after
a service, for example. They will plead confidentiality, insufficient
knowledge or personal non-involvement. As Admiral Fisher put it: "Never
explain. Never apologise".